


Please

by randomfatechidna



Series: Hunger Games 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfatechidna/pseuds/randomfatechidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please. He's only thirteen, please." Sam is reaped into the Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

This is it. Five minutes. That's all the time Dean has with his brother. It's not nearly enough time for him to be able to describe to his little brother how much he regrets everything. In five minutes, he has to let Sam know that he loves him, that he would do anything for him, die for him. Dean smiles bitterly at the thought: what are his words if Sam can't hold him to them? What does it matter that Dean says he would do anything for his baby brother if he can't do the one thing he wants to do most?

Dean's heart quickens in his chest. He wants to explain it all to Sam, make him understand that it was a moment of stunning shock that paralysed him. He wants to let Sam know that in the moment when the volunteer Tributes were asked for, he was mute; he was shocked beyond control of his own body and the moment was over. He was numb. Every single nerve in Dean's body twinges with regret. Every single nerve in his body yearns to go back to that singular moment that flipped his world sideways. There are so many things Dean wants to do, but all he can do is talk.

And it makes him feel sick. So, so sick. He's Sammy's brother, Dean should be able to fix these things. All of his life, Dean's one job was to protect Sammy, help him, guide him, and he had done none of those things. He had failed and it now he has failed. Dean's stomach roils and for a split moment, he is sure he is going to throw up. He swallows fast, breathing in heavily through his nose. In, out, in, out. Dean grips the wall as his vision swims before him. Breathe in, out, in, out.

Dean's father enters the room and gestures for Dean to enter through the door Dean takes another deep breath to steady himself, and steps into the room. Dean doesn't look at his father, who holds the door open for him, instead he stares at his brother. Sam is sitting on the window seat in the room, looking out on their District. District 1 is the district of Careers, the district of future tributes all born to win the Hunger Games. Dean should be proud of his little brother, making it into the Games so young. He should be celebrating with a grin plastered on his face, champagne in his hand. Instead, his throat is thick with unheard sobs and eyes raw from wiping them. He can't help thinking: _He's only thirteen. Please, he's only thirteen._

Sam stands from where he is seated and greets Dean with a hug. After a beat of hesitation, Dean raises his arms and squeezes back. He pulls away and squats down in front of Sam, holding him at arm's length. "Sam," he says. "I'm sorry, I should've volunteered for you."

Sam shakes his head at his toes.

Dean lifts his brother's chin with his hand and makes small shushing noises as he wipes away Sam's tears.

"I'm scared, Dean." Sam says in a small voice.

Dean remembers every time Sam has told him he was scared. The time when there was a spider in the house and Sam was three; when Dad got drunk for the first time and Sam was five; the time they got separated at when they went out for dinner and Sam was twelve. Sam always told Dean, never their father. Another pang of guilt tears through his stomach and almost brings him to tears. "I know, Sammy, I know. I should've - you shouldn't have to -" Dean wipes his mouth with his hand. There are so many things he should have done. "Listen. You gotta remember what Dad tells us everyday. What is it, Sam?"

"We gotta - we gotta stay strong in there, and we can't show emotion: it makes us look weak."

"That's it, Sam. I'm gonna do what I can on the outside, 'kay, Sammy? I'm gonna get you sponsors and supporters but you gotta hold up your end, okay? You gotta train hard and do your best, alright, Sammy?"

Sam nods and buries his face in Dean's shirt. Dean can feel it dampening by the second, but he only pulls Sam in closer, hand carding through his long hair and breathes in, trying to remember everything about him.

 _He's only thirteen. Please, he's only thirteen_.

Dean commits Sam's smell, the feel of his small frame against his own, the chestnut colour of his hair, the rough fabric of his shirt, all to memory. He never wants to forget Sam. Never. Not when this might be his last five minutes with him.

"Sam," Dean breathes, tracing circles on his little brother's shoulder. "I should've volunteered for you, I should've. You can't go into the Games. I'm gonna find a way around it, you watch me-"

Sam pulls away. "Dean."

"- I'm gonna send them bitches all the way to-"

" _Dean_."

"What?"

Sam frowns at his brother. "Please don't get angry at yourself. I got Reaped, yeah, okay, but it's not your fault."

Confusion writes itself across Dean's face. "Of course it's my fault, Sammy. I'm supposed to take _care_  of you. When you were born, d'you know what Dad said to me? He said, 'Here, Dean, this is Sammy. You gotta take care of him.' This is what he meant."

Sam takes his brother's hand and squeezes it. It's meant to be a comforting gesture, but Dean can't help feeling more upset. "Okay, Dad told you to take care of me, but there are things you can't protect me from."

"You said you were scared, Sammy."

"Who isn't? I'm sure Jo's scared as hell."

Dean shakes his head upon hearing the name of the much older female tribute from their district. He just doesn't want to see his little brother die, is that to much to ask? "Sammy," he says. The word is more than a name. It's a plea: _let me help you; please do your best; don't get killed. Please._ "You know I love you, Sammy, more than anything, anyone. You know that, right?"

Sam smiles up at his brother and swipes his hair out of his eyes. His hand grips the cuff of Dean's shirt like a little boy scared of getting lost clings to his mother's. "Yeah, I know. I love you, too." He's still crying, quiet tears drawing tracks down his face like nails do. They stay like that for a moment: looking into each other's eyes and clinging to each other for support. Neither of them wants the moment to end and, for a time, it feels like it never will.

There's a knock on the door. Quiet, but insistent. "Time's up, say goodbye." A deep voice warns from outside the door.

Sam's eyes widen. He doesn't want to let go. Neither of them do. "I don't want you to go." Sam whispers hurriedly.

"Neither do I," Dean replies, tears finding their way out. No, he can't break down. No here. Not in front of Sam. Later, he can cry all he wants, when there's nobody around. Now, he has to be strong for Sam. Dean pulls his brother closer, and they hug again. The embrace is stronger and tighter than any they have ever shared. It's insistent and it's obvious the way they are both trying to keep the other one on them for as long as possible. Neither of them wants to let it go. As soon as they do, the spell's broken and they leave each other. Possibly, forever.

The man knocks at the door again. "Come on, get out, Mr. Winchester."

"I love you," Sam says into Dean's ear. Neither of them show any sign of letting go. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Dean replies. His response is almost lost in the sob that works it's way up his throat. He chokes and for a moment he can't breathe. Dean takes a big breath and holds Sam closer. He needs him closer. Right beside him, where he's always been. "Come home, Sammy. For me."

"I will." Sam replies. Dean feels the tickle of his brother's breath on his ear. Why do they have to take his brother away when he is perfectly fine next to Dean, where he always has been?

The door bursts open behind them and two Peacekeepers ran in, separating Sam and Dean immediately. Hands cling to their waists as they are dragged away from each other. Sam claws at the Peacekeeper's arms that hold him. "Please," he begs. "I just want my brother. Please."

The Peacekeeper holding Dean drags him out of the room. As the door swings shut behind them Sam hears Dean yell out: "Stay strong, Sammy!"

"No, no, no," Sam murmurs. His brother can't leave him. Not now. Not when he needs him the most. The Peacekeeper releases him and Sam doubles over on the carpet, hands scrubbing the tears away from his face. He needs his brother. He needs his warmth. Sam needs Dean to tell him to 'man up', and to pull himself together. He needs Dean's loving arm slung around his shoulders, just his presence enough to calm him down.

 _Please,_ he thinks as he surrenders his small frame to the carpet.  _I'm only thirteen. Please._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know Dean's a bit out of character in the way that he didn't immediately jump up to volunteer himself but where would the plot be if he did?


End file.
